


Kingston Av Tritone

by ShannonXL



Series: Shit My Sherlock Does [1]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fem!Sherlock, Female Sherlock Holmes, Gen, New York City, girl!sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:49:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShannonXL/pseuds/ShannonXL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's life is strange, and he probably doesn't mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingston Av Tritone

John's life is surprising. There's just no other word for it. 

Exhibit A: The skull. John has no idea who it belongs to. Sherlock calls is Angus, but that doesn't guarantee anything. Sherlock calls John various things; "idiot", most frequently, "patriot", when she means to be insulting, "friend", when she thinks no one is listening. For all John knows, "Angus" was actually a saint that died in 824. 

Exhibit B: The clicking. Not his keyboard, no, John's used to that noise. Sherlock calls it "navel gazing", "meaningless clatter", and "obscenely flattering" when she's feeling spiteful. John's girlfriend calls it fascinating, and since she constitutes fifty percent of his readership, he's inclined to keep typing, documenting all those stories that won't ruin people's lives. The funny ones. The ones where nobody dies and the robbers go to jail while the cops go out for a beer. 

The stories aren't the source of the clicking. 

John is watching the Mets lose when Sherlock walks out of her room. At first, he thinks she must be in disguise. Sherlock always looks neat, unruffled by the little startles that creep up on other people. She always looks refined, as if she senses that she belongs somewhere better, but has settled for Earth, because it keeps her occupied in the ways other places can't. But mostly, she always looks practical: comfortable, durable, ready to fight or escape or discover. 

She has costumes. _Disguises_ , but John knows she's an actress. He doesn't know if the detective work came with the dressing up, or if she started toying with masks before she realized what she might learn while wearing them. He wouldn't trust her to sterilize a cut or give him stitches, especially since he knows how poorly she takes care of her own health, but Sherlock has enough medical knowledge to impersonate a doctor, and she is very good at 'borrowing' stethoscopes, even if she's crap about returning them. He's seen her don grace underneath a nun's habit, and once, memorably, eavesdrop from the discomfort of a face-concealing banana suit. 

So he forgives himself for not realizing right away that the Sherlock he's seeing is _Sherlock_ , not a character, not a mask, not a deceit. 

The first thing he says is:

"You're going to kill yourself in those heels."

He can barely hear her grumble:

"Not if I kill you first."

"What?"

"What."

She runs her fingers against the wall as she steps into the kitchen. She checks her phone, and John knows he must be learning from her, because three months ago he never would have known that she's nervous just from that gesture. Sherlock uses her phone for everything she can't be bothered to remember. She doesn't like to clutter her brain with trivia. Her phone remembers all her medical history and the name of every politician she hates and reminds her when it's time to renew her visa. She checks it constantly, fact-checking herself, chatting with experts in message boards, and sexting anyone she finds fascinating.

This was different, even if, in the technical sense, it was exactly the same. 

The second thing John says is:

"Did she accept your apology?"

This time John really can't hear her response. He suspects the answer is no, but you don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure that out. 

He gestures at Exhibit C: The violin. Not, at first glance, the weirdest thing in his apartment. That would be the mounted fish head or firearm or the consulting detective. But that violin has yet to get them evicted, even if it can be heard at three in the morning on a Wednesday. That violin, Sherlock has mentioned (and John has since verified, after searching Wikipedia to find out what she was talking about) is a genuine Stradivarius. It has a name, _Cabriac_ , and John doesn't want to know what kind of case Sherlock had to solve to receive it as payment and he definitely doesn't want to know how much it's worth. He isn't even sure that she should be playing it. That violin is a mystery and a masterpiece. 

The third thing John says is: 

"You could try again. With music this time."

Sherlock grimaces, but he can tell she's smiling underneath it.

"Something trite and lovesick perhaps?"

John smirks.

"Only the best for a world-class opera singer."

Sherlock covers her mouth, and John knows the smile must be creeping to the surface if she needs to hide it like that. 

"I suppose you know a lot about tricking women into forgiving you."

"Only when I've done something stupid." He salutes her as she picks up the violin case. "I know they don't call me three continents Watson for nothing."

Sherlock actually laughs at that. John can hear her heel clicking as she steps into the hallway. Sherlock is a lot of things. A nuisance. An irresponsible detective. A bro, give or take a few non-essential ingredients. The only constant is that she is surprising. John likes to think that he won't be seeing her again until tomorrow, that the bright high heels and impractical neckline and impossible violin will get her out of the doghouse. 

He likes to think she'll do all right, but he's willing to be surprised.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Cabriac is real, and I sincerely hope the owner doesn't think I want to steal it. http://www.cozio.com/Instrument.aspx?id=789


End file.
